


Intuition and Insight

by allcatsareblackinthedark



Series: Intuition [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Altered Hobbit Culture, Extraordinary!Bilbo, Gen, Hobbit Culture, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:12:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4860890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allcatsareblackinthedark/pseuds/allcatsareblackinthedark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the lack of proper information of Hobbits, few seem to know about their uncanny knack of predicting outcomes. Why every Hobbit has their Intuition, of course! It was their way of telling what they should do or what might come ahead.</p><p>Bilbo Baggins, in particular, has a strong Intuition. As a faunt, many suspected what great things would come of it, most thinking of perhaps prized tomatoes or a legendary courtship or some other such nonsense.</p><p>Hobbiton was thoroughly shocked when his knack led him across the Brandywine, over the Mountains, through the Mirkwood Forest and into a Dragon's Den.</p><p>Perhaps they should have been less shocked. After all, his mother was a Took.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

It is rather unfortunate that a proper history or lexicon of Hobbits doesn't exist in all of Arda, at least to the knowledge of myself and many others. There may be a few man-made tomes laying about, but they tell only half-truths and some full lies, and were difficult and fickle things, utterly dreadful. Sometimes I am lead to wonder, however, that if perhaps if there was a decent guide to the hill-dwelling folk, more would know about their wonderful qualities?

After all, Hobbits are a peaceful kind, less apt to picking up weapons and more likely to use a hoe or garden spade. Their homeland, the Shire, bloomed in green lush foliage, as many Hobbits had a hand at gardening, and the hills were rife with love and laughter. They are a most sociable people, gathering for barbeques, banquets, balls, and blowouts as often as they pleased and often making excuses just to do so. I, myself, have had the pleasure of being invited to several parties, such as birthdays, engagements, birth announcements, flower viewings, harvest festivals, and other such and such.

One of the most remarkable qualities, however, remains to be their Intuition. That would be, the guiding sense of how an occurrence might play out. It wasn't quite visions of the future or some sort of kittywhumpus like that, just simply a tug or nudge that something should be done in a certain way or that something should be avoided, or what have you. Every Hobbit has Intuition, and each family has a slightly different kind, the type of which is usually fairly well known to any Hobbit. 

The Took family have the inklings of where the best mushrooms were or the best road to take to a destination, as they were prone to walking holidays and adventures that other were not. The Greenhands know where is best to plant what plant and what might yield better bounties that year, ever the faithful gardeners. A Baggins always knew when to make an extra setting for teatime, or when the silver should be polished in time for use by impressive guests, as they were the utmost respectable gentlehobbits. You could trust a Maggot to have the best produce, a Harfoot with fine leatherwork, a Sandybanks with a head for business, and so on and so forth.

Now, most Hobbits have a generally good handle on their Intuitions, but nothing overly so, so it was a slight surprise when Bilbo Baggins showed a great amount of Intuition. It may have been expected, since he was the offspring of a Baggins and a Took, but many assumed he would take after one or the other, not both, as it were.

He had the social prowess and mind for figures as his Baggins-born father and the curiosity and knack of the unusual of his Tookish mother, and he tended to blend them together just fine. One could pop in for an unexpected visit and he would have the tea ready, their favorite flavor and all the addings they liked best. He was also the one who came home with the most exquisite wildflowers and delicate mushrooms. One could not think of him as a Baggins without nearly equally thinking of him as a Took.

Not many were sure what to make of that, or him, but they were sure that such a grand Intuition would be very useful, although they didn't realise exactly how useful. Few did, and even Bilbo himself didn't realise for quite some time that his Intuition was good for more than Shire-accepted-and-approved things.

Such as the nasty, dreadful, making-you-late-for-supper adventures that tended to follow with the appearances of a grey robed wizard.


	2. The Preparing

It started almost a week before anything came along. The marketplace in Bree was bright and bustling, and Bilbo had come to straighten out some affairs, as a proper gentlehobbit may do. After the passing of his parents, he was the head of the various enterprises his father had passed on, including many rented smials, including several around Bree.

After finishing with his business, he was browsing the market. He was taking stock of what he had need of at home, (a few more candles wouldn't be amiss, perhaps some more ink-) when he saw a stall run by a tall Man.

He was selling cloaks and coats, the outside slicked with a mixture of oil, so rain would pour right off and keep you dry, marvelous inventions they were. Bilbo felt the tug at the back of his mind, the gentle, coaxing Baggins side of him. He stopped to peruse the wares, as he knew, as many other Hobbits did, that you don't just ignore Intuition. He left the market that day with an oiled cloak and a clasp for it, shaped like an acorn. That was not the last of his brushes with his Intuition, though, my dear child.

A few days later, in the market of Hobbiton, he found himself pulled to the butcher's shop, directly to the hanging pig carcasses and large beef hocks. They were usually roasted whole for large parties, and if Bilbo's intuition was telling him that he needed plenty of meat, then he must be expecting a large group.

After purchasing enough meat to feed a small army and arranging it to be delivered later, ("Are you having a party, Master Baggins?" "I don't rightly know, in fact."), he set about other market stalls, picking up various fruits and vegetables to go into his pantry. He had considered himself well stocked already, but he wished to be well prepared, as you might when a large amount of unexpected guests were to be coming your way.

He also stopped at the fishmongers for a good amount of fresh fish to be delivered, and to the flour mill for several sacks of flour, and a few other stalls for other odds and ends. He already felt the itch in his hands to be kneading soft, warm dough in his hands and to be preparing.

And with meats in his cold cellar, produce in the pantry, ales ready to be tapped, and flour at his ready, he felt like he was on the way to being prepared. But, he was not yet there, and had much else to do.

In the next two days, he found himself quite the busy Hobbit. He made sure there was wood for both his oven, the fireplace, and the outdoor cooker, he aired out all the spare rooms, swept the floors, brought the extra table and chairs from the storage, rolled kegs of ale into easier reach than the cellar, and hid anything breakable or precious.

Only when his house was prepared and seen to, was he confident that he could start on foodstuffs. Once he started cooking, he would not have the time to clean or to do much else for any matter.

In the day before, he baked, and oh, did he bake. He made sensible breads, such as eight loaves of plain white bread, a few loaves of sourdough bread, and a few brown rye bread loaves. He made rolls for a dozen hobbits; garlic and herb rolls, sweeter honey rolls, plain yeast rolls. You may think that is a lot, but when you are unsure of the number of guests, my dear, too much is better than too little.

He baked plenty for dessert as well, as Hobbits had sweet tooths, and if this group was a band of Tooks, as he suspected, then he would need plenty. He made sweet honey cake, seed cake, spiced tea cakes, lemony shortbread, lavender shortbread, and sponge cakes with layers of cream. He made many pies: apple, peach, pecan, blueberry, custard, brown sugar. He also made mountains of cookies- chocolate chip cookies, lemon cookies, molasses cookies, and sugar cookies. His dessert plates were all filled, cookie jars barely able to be shut, and bread boxes fit to burst.

He stored the desserts in a back pantry, so hopefully they wouldn't be touched until after dinner. (If any of his Took cousins were coming, he was sure they would sniff them out regardless.) He also stored several dozen eggs, rashers of bacon, ropes of pork sausages, several started pans of cinnamon rolls and overnight oatmeal, for breakfast.

It definitely felt like this large group was coming for dinner and staying the night, and if the oiled cloak, bedroll, and pack that gathered in the corner of his room meant anything, he was going with them.

He wasn't sure what he felt about that quite yet. You see, hobbits are completely, utterly respectable. Especially Baggins, as Bilbo was. He was also a Took, however, and they craved adventure, and Bilbo could feel the wilder, repressed need clawing in his stomach and rooted into his bones. He doubted he would resist his Took Intuition when the time came.

Regardless of if he would leave or not, he packed his pack with great care. His cloak and clasp were set in the bottom with care. Two waistcoats, three shirts, three pairs of trousers, and a jacket were laid in the pack, all more hardy material, not the fine brocades and silks of his usual wardrobe. A large pouch of sweet Shire-grown leaf, his pipe, his old, weathered carving tools, soaps for both himself and his clothes, a small sewing kit, a comb, and his father's old pocketknife.

With a small tug of his Baggins side, he also tucked in a handkerchief before he shut the pack. After securing his bedroll to the pack, he laid it in the corner of his bedroom on a chair, where it would continue to sit as a reminder of things to come, things that Bilbo was unsure he was quite yet ready to face.


	3. The Assembling

When the greyed wizard came upon his doorstep and refuted his simple greeting (Wizards were probably the only ones in Arda who can't just accept a hello) Bilbo knew that this is what he had prepared for. He could feel it culminating in his gut, and knew, just knew, that this was the moment it would begin, although he had yet to find what 'it' truly was. 

When his Baggins side felt that Gandalf was hiding something, his Took side came out to tease the wizard, ("Adventures are a nasty business, make you late for supper."). Bilbo Baggins disliked being misled, after all, and wizards rarely told you true intentions, if any of what his mother told him was true. 

It may not have been wise to tease a wizard, but either way, Bilbo still knew that this adventure would happen regardless of his answers to questions posed. Wizards were like that, simply meddling where they wished.

They parted soon, and Gandalf left with some mutters under his breath and later some quick scrapes at the door. Bilbo didn't realise that scraping was to led his soon-to-be companions to the door. However, he now knew that it was truly time to prepare.

He stoked the fires in the oven and his outdoor cooker a little higher, he had kept them lit for this moment. The outdoor cooker was a wonderful fire pit, built up with sturdy stones, with wire racks inside to hold the meat, and a door to seal in the heat. It was usually used for parties, and it felt very much like he was preparing for one. 

On the cooker outside, he put a whole pig on to roast, already stuffed with fragrant spices and apples, whole chickens stuffed with breading, and large slabs of beef. They would roast all day with the door tightly shut until the evening. Even with the door closed, smells of juicy pork and roasted beef trailed all the way down Bagshot Row.

Any little fauntlings who trailed their way to an open window later, inquiring if he was having a party, were sent on their way with a cookie and a request to send any travelers who asked about him this way.

Inside he began to work on the other meat. He cut the heads and tails off fishes, and stuffed them with cut slices of lemon and sprigs of rosemary. He put potatoes on the stove to boil for mashed potatoes, he roasted cherry tomatoes and bell peppers with sausages, he sauteed mushrooms with garlic sauce, and he made tomato soup, mushroom soup, and carrot soup.

He mixed together several salads, one cranberry apple walnut, another one cucumber and tomato, and just a mix of lettuce and arugula. He sauteed asparagus, mashed the potatoes with some cream and butter, sauteed green beans, roasted brussel sprouts with garlic and bacon, and he baked even more potatoes.

His long table was filling up quickly, and he needed to leave room for the meat that was yet cooking, so he began setting food on the sideboards. He set out the pickles, and sliced hard cheeses. He set out several jams and jellies: blackberry, strawberry, raspberry, and peach. He set out bowls of sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, and fetched bottles of honeyed wine. He brought out the breads and rolls, and butter to spread on them.

By now, it was getting dark and Bilbo was finally able to bring in the meat, some of which had to be carved before bringing inside, as he was only able to carry so much, you know. It was all beautifully cooked and looked wonderful on the table. The table might have given a few creaks of protests, and the sideboards fared little better, but their craftsmanship was fine and he knew it would hold up such weight.

He set out his second best plates, and counted places out for thirteen. He wasn't setting a place for himself (after all, every cook must sample their cooking a little). So that would mean the wizard (presumably, of course. Wizards are always unpredictable) and twelve others. 

Goodness gracious, that must be why he was working up a storm. He felt, however, that that wasn't enough place settings. He gathered a plateful of the better cuts of meats and other dishes, and then another, and set them away in the kitchen. He felt that one would be coming late, or some such thing, and he did not want them to go without.

On an impulse, even though he had not brought out dessert, of course, and did not expect to for a time, he went to the second pantry regardless, and took a blackberry pie and put it with the set aside food. Why the blackberry in particular, he was unsure, but he knew that was the one to be set aside.


	4. The Receiving

Bilbo had barely the time to change into something more suitable. His working clothes (a simple shirt and breeches) were nice quality, but covered in flour and sauces. He decided to wear a cream colored shirt, a favored buttery yellow waistcoat, and tanned trousers. 

He hadn't the time to do much more washing up than a few splashes of water on his face, but he made sure his curly hair was brushed, both on his head and his feet. Hobbits like to make a good appearance, especially a Baggins, and after all, child, Bilbo was a Baggins of Bag End.

The first guest to arrive was Dwalin, a fierce dwarf by all means, and a rough looking one as well. He was a tall for a dwarf, and wide. He had an impressive beard and a bald head with intricate tattoos, the likes of which Bilbo had never seen before.

To have such a large, imposing figure in your doorway, why I'm sure he must have thought it was a bear at first and not a dwarf at all. Bilbo was startled at first, but he was quick to welcome his guest, like a proper host.

Dwalin was ushered into the dining room, where the table was laden with fine, warm food. Now, the dwarrow had been expecting food, as Gandalf had told them there would be, but Dwalin had not hoped for more than perhaps a modest bread and stew, certainly not the feast before him.

Bilbo, ever the proper host, encouraged him to dig in. After all, no food is good cold, and he simply would not allow any guest to go hungry. That would make him a poor host, and no one could accuse him of that.

There was a new knock at the door, and Bilbo opened it to welcome in Balin, the brother of Dwalin. Where Dwalin was tall and hardened, Balin was like a grandfather, with a wizened tone in his voice, a snow white beard, and a twinkle in his eyes.

Bilbo welcomed him in, and after a quick exchange about the weather, he escorted the dwarf to the dining room, where his brother has began to fill his plate with meats and cheeses. Balin also seemed a bit stunned with the amount of food set forth, but was quick to greet his brother and take a seat beside him.

Bilbo left the brothers to greet each other as his door rang with knocking once more. This time, it was Fili and Kili, one of the most mischievous young duos that Arda has seen. Fili was the elder, fair and more reserved than his excitable, darker haired brother, Kili.

Bilbo let the boys in as well, after a correction of names, ("I am Bilbo Baggins, not Boggins. If you wish, just Bilbo will do."). They got off to a little more of a rocky start, when Kili began to wipe his muddy boots on the deceased Belladonna Took's glory box, and Fili piled his newly sharpened weapons into Bilbo's arms. Could you imagine? How rude of them to do so.

Bilbo told them so, and told Kili to take his muddy boots off and to clean the glory box at once. "Did you take a shortcut through a pig sty and happen to leave your manners there?" He chastised them, which I think was rather clever of him to say, and most rightful too.

Fili was handed back his weapons and told to put them on top of one of the tables in the entryway, and how rude it was to simply push your things at someone and expect them to do things? It was very impolite and Bilbo would not stand to be treated so in his own house.

Dwalin and Balin seemed to find it funny that Bilbo had disciplined the boys so quickly and efficiently, and Balin even told him that it reminded him of what the boys' mother might have said. After the glory box was wiped up, Bilbo let them into the dining room, where Kili may or may not have welled up with happy tears.

The next knock had the majority of the dwarves tumbling into his home, just nearly missing Bilbo as they fell. Gandalf stood behind them and let himself in. (Dratted wizards).

The rest of the introductions were a bit rushed and Bilbo worried that he might misplace a name or face. Regardless, he made sure to keep an eye out as they made merry with the food and drink he set out.

Bofur was a cheerful dwarf, with a hat with peculiar upturned side flaps, and three pigtails that did the same (Sometimes I like to think that his braids and hat saw his upturned mouth smiling and decided to do the same! But that's just the fanciful thinking of an old coot after all). His brother, Bombur, was a large fellow with a long rope of orange braided beard across his chest, and would occasionally ask Bilbo about the seasonings and recipes, one after my own heart, he was. Bifur had white and black braided hair and, well, had an axe in his head, as awful as you might imagine, given to him by an orc in a long distant fight. He seemed to get on just fine though, even if he couldn't speak in Common any longer.

Ori was a younger dwarf, with a choppy haircut, a seeming penchant for knitwear, and the tell tale, ink stained hands of a scribe. His brother, Dori, had rather intricate gray braids and seemed to be a bit of a mother hen in his interactions, fretting about with tea and telling other to mind their manners. The other brother, Nori, had a strange star shaped hairstyle and several braids, and if Bilbo was not mistaken, had slipped a few spoons into his jacket. But, of course, there was a reason why his good crockery was put away.

Gloin had a large, red beard, with several trinkets and beads woven in, and his brother, Oin, had quite the coiffure as well, though his was grey and twisted differently. If the horn was anything to go by, he was also hard of hearing. 

He put all their names to faces as he went, which must have been hard, considering that dwarves like to be merry and a bit messy with their food, and less inclined to any substantial talk other than bawdy tavern speak. Bilbo, however, was very pleased to hear several comments on his good cooking, and a joking marriage proposal was thrown in there somewhere (It is unsure how much of it was jest and how much was truth, but it does not matter now).

Bilbo took it all in good stride. The dwarves were a bit rowdy, and quite loud, but they were also not that different from Took cousins, the terrors that they were. Bilbo found himself occasionally firing back a retort or tossing a bread roll back at a dwarf, and he was far less scandalised about it all than he should have been, considering, but his Tookish nature was more than happy to rear its head.

It was some time before the final knock was heard, and the smial became quiet, which only moments before seemed impossible. Bilbo realised this must be the final dwarf, whom he had had the instinct to set a place aside for. He was glad for it too, for even though the table wasn't empty, the better dishes of it were long since eaten (Mostly salad was left as dwarven folk are more inclined to meats than vegetables and sometimes I pity them for it).

The final dwarf had a high bearing, stepping in with long strides and a high held head. His hair was black with grey at his temples and cooled blue steel eyes. "May I present to you, Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of our company." Gandalf told Bilbo.

Bilbo was polite, introducing himself with a smile and was ready to welcome into his home, when Thorin responded with a curt tone that Bilbo looked more like a grocer than a burglar.

Now, my child, Bilbo did not know what to make of the burglar half of that statement, but he did not stand for the other half. "And you look more like an ass than a leader." He told him back, paying no mind to a few of the dwarves who snorted at the statement. 

Now, that might not have been a wise thing to say, but Bilbo was not pleased at having been insulted in his own home, much less after spent the better part of the last few days preparing, and tonight hosting his company graciously. He told Thorin so, and did not mince words, for a Hobbit scorned is not one who relents.

At first, the dwarf paused, before he admitted he had been rude to the one who hosted them, and Bilbo took that as an apology and accepted it. He waved Thorin to the dining room, and brought out the plates he had saved of some of the better cuts of meat and dishes, along with a mug of ale and a slice of the blackberry pie.

Thorin was clearly surprised at the gesture, but nodded and ate anyways, for he had been well reprimanded before and was more careful in his words. The company let their leader eat for a moment before asking if the other kingdoms sent aid, though for what, Bilbo did not know. Thorin said they did not, and the dwarrow seemed disheartened for a moment.

Then, before him, they laid out their plan to retake a mountain. You see, many years before, the kingdom of Erebor was a rich and bustling place, a stronghold for dwarrowkind. The king Thror had all the riches he could ask for, and was a wise and kind ruler. 

In this time of prosperity, a glorious stone, the Arkenstone, was wrought from the rock and claimed as the King's Jewel. Slowly, the king descended into madness, a lust for gold, and this lust called a dragon to the mountain. This dragon, Smaug, laid waste to the mountain and the surroundings, burning all in its path and slinking into the mountain and claiming it.

The mountain was lost, and the dwarrow fled, and now, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, looked to reclaim it. They had a map, Gandalf brought forth a key to a secret door, and now they needed a burglar.

A burglar, who they seemed to think they had in Bilbo. It is a strange notion, and Bilbo told them as much, that they would think he was a burglar of any sort. This was, of course, a part of the meddling Gandalf did, convincing the dwarrow of Bilbo being the burglar they needed.

They fought for a moment, each person trying to raise their voice louder than the others, before Gandalf declared that if he said Bilbo was a burglar, then Bilbo was a burglar. To me, that was a silly statement, but wizards never do anything normal, and the dwarrow believed him anyways.

They brought forth a contract for Bilbo, stating in return for his help he would lay claim to one fourteenth of the treasure within the mountain (silly considering he was already a rich hobbit with too much money already), and outlined funeral arrangements and several modes of death, including incineration and evisceration.

Now this was very unhelpful language to put in a contract to someone you are trying to convince, but Bilbo was too distracted to feel unnerved by it or the descriptions Bofur helpfully gave. In the pit of his stomach, in the marrow of his bones, Bilbo felt a deep, deep tug. The Took Intuition was pulling at him nearly viciously, begging him to put quill to paper. 

And with a flourish, he calmed it, signing his name to the paper.

"Anyone ready for dessert?" He asked, and all the dwarves nodded happily. For the first time, Bilbo saw the tug of a smile on the corners of Thorin's mouth as he said that if there was any more blackberry pie, he'd definitely welcome it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, but I absolutely adore that a portion of the fandom has decided that Thorin loves blackberry desserts. A little pie doesn't hurt to sweeten anyone up, haha. This is the end of this story, but I may write more in the series if the mood strikes.


End file.
